Clothes Make the Vampire
by jellinor
Summary: It's the night before a very important mission. Alucard and Pip are being themselves, and Integra is not amused. One-shot.


Author's Note: I recently rediscovered this absolute gem of a manga and frankly couldn't help myself. (Hopefully, it will also help easing my massive writer's block. Fingers crossed!)

Set in the immediate lead-up to our heroes leaving on the mission to Rio de Janeiro, because there needs to be a backstory to Alucard rocking that rather dapper-looking suit and Pip getting stuck in that cheap hotel. Told (mostly) from Integra's point of view.

Disclaimer: I don't own _Hellsing_.

* * *

**Clothes Make the Vampire (or Why Hitting On Your Boss Is a Very Bad Idea)**

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"Sir Integra."

She slowly raised her eyes from the dozens of reports spread out on the desk in front of her to the elegant case of fine cigars held out towards her by her loyal butler. She visibly relaxed. Even after ten years of companionship, she still didn't know how he did it. Walter really had the most impeccable timing.

"Walter," she said appreciatively, deftly plucking a tightly-rolled bundle of aromatic leaf tobacco from its compartment. "How are the preparations coming along?" she asked, expertly cutting off the cap with the silver guillotine she kept in the top desk drawer solely for that purpose.

The retired vampire hunter swooped down in a graceful bow to quickly light the other end. "Everything is going according to plan, ma'm."

Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing sat back in her chair, savouring the rich, woody taste of a truly first-class cigar. And as always, she thought of her father. The honourable Arthur Hellsing (whose own lifelong habit had seen fit to eventually settle in the depths of his lungs; to grow and fester until finally claiming his life before some godforsaken monster had the chance) was sure to be turning in his grave at the sight of the Henri Wintermans between the lips of his only child.

Ever the uncompromising patriot, her father had been a staunch Lonsdale man.

(Now was neither the time nor the place, but… God, she missed him.)

She stood up and walked around her desk. "What of Sir Penwood?" she queried, coming to a halt in front of a window to watch the sun rise over the tree-tops. The night would soon be over, and there was still so much work to be done. So much work. "…I trust there were no problems in acquiring what we need."

"Ah yes…" Walter had joined her, a few steps behind as usual. "Sir Penwood was initially most displeased at the Hellsing Organization employing the services of a notorious band of warmongers, but once I had explained the situation, he agreed that our options at the time were somewhat limited. It took some convincing, but a private jet at Heathrow Airport is now at our disposal, and on board are all the necessary documents to grant Alucard – forgive me, 'Mr. J. H. Brennan' – and 'Mr. Quincy Bouchard' perfectly legal entry into not only Brazil but its neighbouring states as well, in the unlikely scenario that the investigation should call for a wider search." The butler paused, and declined his head apologetically. "I also took the liberty of requesting a hefty sum of American dollars. I have great confidence in Alucard's ability to eliminate any and all obstacles in his way, but one can never be too careful. He and the Captain may find themselves in a position where even a vulgar resource such as this has its uses; as you know, Sir Integra, hard currency tends to speak louder than words in those parts of the world, and we _do_ have a reputation to think about."

"Indeed." Integra smirked around her cigar, pleased with Walter's foresight. "What about Seras?"

"Her current state of undeath makes her particularly vulnerable to daylight, so I have arranged for her to travel inside her coffin," replied Walter promptly. "She is presently on standby inside her designated transport vehicle."

Understandably, Integra raised an eyebrow at that. "I'm sure she put up quite the fight," she remarked with unmasked curiosity, wondering just how on earth Walter had managed.

(Because Seras Victoria did _not_ approve of her new sleeping arrangements; she had made that abundantly clear to everyone in the Organization with even average hearing, and she evidently regarded retiring inside her coffin at daybreak as some kind of punishment. But then, Walter had not always been as polite and mild mannered as he was now – and recent events had only reaffirmed Integra's belief that retired or not, Walter was and always would be a master killer. He had been an exceptional monster hunter once (in his prime perhaps even on par with the great vampire himself, given that he had been deemed skilled enough to essentially take his place when Alucard was locked away), and despite her superhuman qualities, her servant's fledgling was still just that: a fledgling.

Integra often wondered why the newly-minted draculina insisted on clinging to the last shreds of her humanity quite so desperately. The police girl had made her choice; she had rolled the dice, and lost. There was no turning back – there could be no turning back – and yet she refused to embrace her new identity. Most days, Integra loathed her for it – the unwillingness to accept the sorry hand she had been dealt and _just get on with it_, _dammit_! – but by the same token, she had to admit that the girl's resolve to stay as human as she could, in fact was nothing short of admirable.)

The Head of the Hellsing Organization sighed inwardly.

She had actively discouraged Alucard from bringing home strays for some very good reasons, and though of no fault of her own, Seras somehow managed to embody more or less all of them (which was probably why he had done it in the first place, that cheeky bastard). But seeing that now was much too late to do anything about it, she could only hope that even after a confrontation with Walter, the girl at least was still in one piece. Not only had Alucard requested that she be included on the mission to Brazil for a reason (though he had yet to disclose what that reason was, and knowing Alucard there probably wasn't one), but fresh vampiric remains were a nuisance to clean off the carpet.

(That reminded her to schedule that budget meeting with Penwood sooner rather than later. The sublevels were in urgent need of refurbishment, and she'd be damned if she and the Hellsing Organization ended up footing the entire bill again. Sir Islands was no pushover, but Penwood… Penwood, bless his soul, certainly was.)

"Not at all, Sir Integra," assured her the butler calmly. "In fact, it was surprisingly easy. Miss Victoria was taking a nap in her room when I went to explain the situation to her…" The Angel of Death paused, offering up his most innocent smile. "She was sleeping so soundly that I didn't have the heart to wake her."

Integra shook her head, deciding right then and there that she was better off without too many details. As was her general policy when dealing with the more wayward members of staff, one in particular: whatever she did not know, she could take no responsibility for. Of course, that was not to say that she couldn't have an opinion on the matter; she usually did. "…police girl or not, she might actually kill you for this," she pointed out between lengthy drags on her cigar. "How long is the flight? Ten? Eleven hours? Surely you don't expect her to sleep throughout the entire thing."

It was actually rather amusing how Walter even had the nerve to look offended. "Sir Integra, Alucard assured me that Miss Victoria will be _quite_ comfortable!"

Of course he had; Integra was not at all surprised. Not in the slightest. "Speak of the devil—" She reluctantly removed the cigar from her mouth and bellowed, "Alucard! I know you are listening! Get in here!"

"_You called, my master_."

The speed of his response indicated that he really had been listening, and from the manner his voice was reverberating around the room, she imagined that her undead servant must have entered through one of the suits of armour at the far wall. "Alucard," she said, using a more civilized tone but still facing away from him, "are you ready to leave?"

The low chuckle, when it finally came, was positively diabolical. But Integra, who understood better than most that this was all the confirmation she was likely to get, simply turned on her heels to bestow upon her creature both her blessing and her final orders.

"Very we—Good God!" she exclaimed at the sight of him. "You are _not_ wearing _that_!"

The once-great vampire king, outfitted in his usual blood-red, billowy attire, looked thoroughly puzzled. "…is there a problem?" he asked slowly and with care, regarding the two humans suspiciously from under the wide brim of his hat.

"Alucard—" Integra pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand, "—this is supposed to be a _covert_ operation."

The great nightwalker Alucard frowned and looked down his own front, correctly observing that nothing seemed out of place, or (in lack of a better word for it) in any way 'different.' He then stole a furtive glance at his tiny master, whose very being seemed to pulse with pure exasperation (which he in any other, less awkward situation would have found utterly adorable); finally returning his gaze back down his front, where just as expected, absolutely nothing had changed.

He was just about to demand that Walter, who after all was human and therefore more likely to understand his master's odd behaviour, start explaining, when it dawned on him. And quickly putting two and two together (and deciding that he really didn't like the outcome), glowing red eyes tinged with very bad intent and undiluted madness, narrowed dangerously.

"…and here I was the under impression that _all_ our operations were covert," he spat tartly, drawing himself up to his full, terrifying height.

Integra peered up at her otherworldly servant, totally unfazed by his pathetic attempt at intimidation, but duly noting the wounded pride rolling off him in thick waves to mingle with the darkness slowly gathering about his person. She should have known, because underneath all that everyday bloodlust and snarky bravado they had come to expect from him, Alucard was a surprisingly vain creature. She would have to tread lightly from now on, or she risked inflicting permanent damage on his psyche – insofar that he was still in possession of one.

And with all that in mind, Integra set out to make her case.

"Under more _normal_ circumstances—" (she made sure to put an emphasis on 'normal') "—_that_—" (she waved at his general appearance with what remained of her cigar before dropping it in the ashtray helpfully held out by Walter) "—would do just fine. _However_—" (she paused, choosing her words carefully) "—this time, you will be moving about in full view of civilians."

Integra regarded her stone-faced servant triumphantly, confident that she had done more than enough to make even the pig-headed vampire see reason. But Alucard was merely staring coldly at her, showing absolutely no sign whatsoever that he had even been listening.

She grit her teeth, only narrowly fighting off the urge to reach for her gun. "_…_unarmed civilians, Alucard," she repeated testily, "during _day_time."

Still no response. But feeling unusually generous, Integra decided to give him the benefit of the doubt by counting backwards from five instead of the normal two before she let him have it.

"You can't expect me to let you leave like that, dammit!" She slammed her hands down on the desk, finally (and spectacularly) out of patience. "You'll stick out like a sore thumb in that getup! They'll see you coming for miles!"

Alucard scoffed at the foolish, tragically flawed human logic. "I will have you know that your great ancestor himself approved of this 'getup'," he informed her haughtily (trying not to think too hard about the fact that the man he was championing – or at least that man's wardrobe, which had been of good taste for a mere mortal – stood entirely to blame for over a century of mostly uninterrupted boredom only really livened up by the occasional, short war. Say what he wanted about humanity in general, and the Hellsings in particular: can't live with them, can't live without them.)

Integra felt a headache coming on. Abraham Van Helsing's partiality for wide, flowing trench coats were the stuff of legends. "…I am sure he did," she muttered, lighting a new cigar.

Alucard beheld his audience imperiously, his warrior spirit soaring. Miserable wretches. They were forgetting their place. "I…" he began, eyes ablaze. "I, who have defeated scores of vampires, laid waste to legions of men and ghouls; the conqueror of lands upon la—"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Integra impatiently, instead turning to address the butler. "Walter! We don't have much time. Fix this!"

"Of course, ma'm."

Walter carefully approached the offended vampire. "Come now, Alucard," he said kindly, as if reasoning with a petulant child, "why don't we go and try on the clothes I laid out for you on your coffin?"

Alucard sighed. There simply was no winning against these people! Perhaps he had underestimated the magic that bound him to his human masters. He definitely wouldn't put it past the old man to have laid it on extra thick with the obedience incantations just to spite him. "…I did," he admitted grudgingly. "But these things you insist are clothes are not only unbecoming, but they _itch_."

"Ah—" Walter nodded sympathetically, "—such are the sacrifices the must be made for Queen and country, I'm afraid."

"It's not my country," growled Alucard sullenly.

"Nor is it mine, originally." The butler reached up to gently pat the vampire on the shoulder. "Cheer up, old chap. I find it's the sentiment that counts, don't you think?"

Alucard stared at him blankly, before sending his master, who was standing with her back to them, calmly sorting through some papers, a withering glare.

"Now if you would please excuse us, Sir Integra," continued Walter politely, clearly not expecting an answer, "it seems there still are some last-minute preparations to take care of… Come along now, Alucard," he called over his shoulder. "Don't dawdle!"

"Walter," rumbled the vampire darkly, "I accept that I must wear a suit, but I do not consent to that… that _pink_ abomination. I would rather have my head cut off, my limbs submerged in holy water and my heart pierced by a thousand blessed blades than having _that_ anywhere near my person!"

"Yes. I do apologize…" Integra smirked. Walter didn't sound in the least remorseful. "I understand that salmon is very fashionable at the moment, but if you insist on a dress shirt of a different colour, then how about—"

Finally, the heavy doors fell shut behind them, and she sat back down behind her desk.

"_Hey, Boss! Hey! Don't sleep now! Wake up!_"

A muscle in line with Integra's right eye twitched. Not even Alucard had the audacity to—

She got up and charged to the window; and just as expected, standing on the ground far below was none other than Pip Bernadotte himself, both hands curled around his mouth to form a makeshift funnel, yelling like a maniac.

"WHAT?" she barked, reluctantly sticking her head out of an airing hatch.

(Of all the undignified—)

"Oh, hey Boss! You're awake!" The redhead grinned boyishly. "Lovely morning."

Integra took a deep breath. She was sorely tempted to put a bullet through his head, but she needed the idiot alive. For the time being, at least.

"What. Do. You. Want?" she ground out. (First Alucard, and now _this_…)

"I've been thinking—" Already she did not like where this was headed. Perhaps she was being unfair, but guns-for-hire weren't exactly known for their intellectual prowess, "—our mission today, it is going to be very dangerous, non?"

Integra's grip around the windowpane tightened. "I'm not paying you extra!" she replied sharply.

Bernadotte threw his hands over his heart. "Boss, you wound me!" he exclaimed theatrically. "I was thinking about something else. Perhaps… for good luck?"

Integra slammed the window shut with a bang. She stalked back to her desk, angrily snatching up the first document she saw.

_Hotel reservations?_

She stared at it for a second. Then, she picked up the phone.


End file.
